Compelled (a Hat Films Fanfic)

Dorm

        "You can come in if you want," Amanda suggested as she stepped out of my car. I looked at the clock on the dash; 11:23, enough time for a visit before I had to go back to Smith's apartment to work on the trailer. I accepted the offer and shut of the car, excited to finally get actual alone time without fear of getting caught by a nurse or doctor.

        I walked around the car and grabbed her hand, following her into the tall building. There wern't many students around, but those that were in the main lounge were young and juvenile looking, bringing back vivid memories of Portsmouth Uni. Amanda exchanged a quick word with the man sitting at the front desk and motioned me to follow her into the lift.

        She looked somewhat uncomfortable as she absently scratched the back of her head. The lift was quiet as it slowly creaked up the floors, dinging every so often as the red number above our head changed. I knew something was wrong by her awkward behavior, but I waited for her to speak her mind, knowing she was calculating her statement. "Sorry," she muttered after a minute.

        "For what?" I asked, startled that she would be apologizing for anything.

        "I live in a first year dorm... it's kind of childish and juvenile, not something a 24 year old should be doing," she said quietly, blushing from embarrassment. I had a few passing thoughts of it when I had seem all to young students loitering around outside, but it obviously hadn't bothered me as much as it did her.

        "I don't care," I scoffed, wrapping an arm around her waist to rest my hand on her hip while we waited for the slow lift. I didn't mind such trivial things, but she seemed genuinely bother by it.

        "Most graduate students own apartments," she continued, "or at least live in student housing off of campus... It's just I can't drive and I don't know the area..."

        "It's fine," I assured her as we stepped off at the fifth floor.

        "I get my own room though," she shrugged, giving me an apologetic smile and walking through the empty lounge and down the hall lined with identical wooden doors, pitted and chipped from years of use. The only thing that discerned them from one another were signs and posters with girly handwriting depicting stereotypical names in fluid handwriting. She stopped at one of them, though her door was plain and void of any glittery name plates, and pulled out a key. She butted her hip against the swollen wood, producing a silent grimace of pain, and then extended her arm to hold the door open for me.

        My jaw dropped at the state of her room. There were no walls; every square inch was covered in artwork. Canvases of all different sizes butted up against each other to form a patchwork of art that spanned all four walls. Even the window sill had a small easel and a stack of paintings on it. The rest of her room was quite bare and unlived in. Her desk had a few pencils and books scattered across it, and the single bed had a plain black duvet that looked crisp and brand new. However, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the paintings and drawings to look at such bland things for long.

        Some of them were dirtied with charcoal smudged across them, suggesting vague shapes and organic figures; other's were deftly and impressively done portraits and still lifes. Others still were of random things I could take days to list: Fan art of books and movies, paintings of animals, disturbing creatures and fantastic landscapes. I probably took 15 minutes just looking around her room. A Game of Thrones painting of John Snow caught my eye, as well as a huge canvas that took up a good part of the wall that depicted a rotting zombie and a crow picking at it's eye.

        I struggled with the words as I stared. Amanda finished putting her things away and stood next to me, looking up at her artwork. "I...I thought you were an animation artist..." I stammered, mystified.